A Long Way to Go
by DonJohn23
Summary: France, December 1916. Meet Private Nicholas Duval.
1. Pack Up Your Troubles

It's cold, and it's wet, and it smells, and he can barely concentrate on anything but making sure he puts one foot in front of the other and doesn't step off the duckboards and into the mud. The sky above him is almost dazzlingly white, the world around him seeming monochromatic in the weak light of the December sun.

"Looks like you brought the weather with you, eh, Private?" Lieutenant Smythe says, smiling over his shoulder as they walk, "A few days ago half the trenches were flooded because of the rain, you could barely see the pack of the man in front of you."

Nick forces a laugh, trying to hide how absolutely terrified he is. They walk past men covered in mud firing over the edge of the parapet, and men covered in mud crouched against the wall of the trenches, reading letters, or chatting, and a few just sitting, staring into space, lost in their own thoughts.

They stop in front of one of the men, who pushes his letter back into the inside pocket of his tunic, and stands up, saluting Lieutenant Smythe smartly.

"Private Sterling, meet Private Duval. He's our new bod, here to help out when we start the push." Smythe says cheerily. "Keep an eye on him, eh? I'm off to report to the Captain. Cheerio!"

With that, he claps Nick on the back, and strides off down the trench, his greatcoat trailing in the mud as he rounds the corner and disappears from sight. Nick turns back to face Private Sterling, smiling apprehensively.

"Jeffy Sterlin'," he grins, holding out a grubby hand, "British as the pound. They call me Penny, 'cause of me surname."

"Uh... Nicholas Duval." Nick says slowly, shaking Jeffy's hand. "How'd you do?"

"'ow'd you do." Jeffy laughs, dropping his hand before turning and gesturing through the entrance into the dugout that he was sitting by. "After you."

"Aren't... Aren't only officers allowed in there?" Nick asks cautiously, peering through the makeshift door.

Jeffy shrugs.

"Smythe lets us use it. 'S'meant to be 'is, but 'e bunks with other officers a few trenches down." Jeffy tells him, before leading the way inside.

Nick follows him in, taking off his helmet and looking around at the room buried under the sod. It's not entirely dry in there, but then Nick supposes that nowhere can be out here.

"Doesn't that worry you?" Nick asks, nodding to the bulge in the metal roof.

Jeffy stops, midway through taking off his helmet, staring at Nick.

"There're 'undreds of Germans waiting to shoot 'oles in us the moment we peek up over the edge of the trench, d'you really fink _that_" Jeffy gestures upwards with his helmet. "is one of our main concerns?"

Nick laughs quietly, following Jeffy over to the table in corner of the small room and sitting down opposite him.

"Penny post!" Someone yells from behind Nick.

He turns to see an envelope flying toward his face, and ducks just in time to avoid getting hit by it. Jeffy laughs and catches the letter, placing it carefully on the table, before nodding toward the man who'd thrown it.

"That's Anderson." Jeffy tells him, leaning his elbows on the table.

Nick turns to look at him properly, taking in the neatly slicked back black hair, and the smile on his face. He also notes, with relief, that he might not be the shortest one in the regiment. Anderson raises a hand in greeting, dropping his pack down onto the ground.

"'e's a poet, ain't that right, Tips?" Jeffy says, grinning at Nick.

"Ye can shut your face, Penny. At least I can read!" Anderson calls back, laughing.

"I can read better than you can rhyme!"

"I'm Irish, poetry's in me soul..."

Jeffy glances at Nick, rolling his eyes.

"'e's not that bad, really..." Jeffy says, his voice hushed, jumping as Anderson brings his hand down on his shoulder.

"Who's this then?"

"Nicholas, Nicholas Duval." Nick says, reaching across to shake Anderson's proffered hand. "How'd you do?"

Anderson shakes his hand firmly, grinning.

"Blaine Anderson. Story with'ca." He winks, then turns and goes back to his pack, searching through it for something.

Nick looks to Jeffy, wide eyed in confusion, leaning in to whisper.

"Jeffy... he winked at me..."

"'e does that..." Jeffy smirks, then looks down at the letter in his hand, turning it over and over in his fingers.

"Is it from your family?" Nick says, nodding toward the envelope.

"'oo else is it gonna be from? Father Christmas?" Jeffy jokes, smiling at him. "Prob'ly from one of me sisters..."

"You have sisters?" Nick asks, leaning forward.

"I do... six of 'em." Jeffy sighs.

"Six!" Nick raises his eyebrows. "I thought two brothers was bad but six sisters..."

"Tell me about it..." he grins. "Kitty and Molly and Fran and Margie and Lydia and little Aggie." He rattles off, grinning like he's done it hundreds of times before - which, Nick realises, he probably has.

"You have sisters named Kitty and Lydia?" Nick laughs, "Really?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh... um... there are two sisters named Kitty and Lydia in Pride and Prejudice, I thought you might have been joking."

"Pride and Prejudice?"

"You've never heard of Pride and Prejudice?"

"I have." says a quiet voice from the corner. "It's one of my favourites, actually."

Nick looks up, only now noticing the boy sitting against the dug-out wall, carefully running a match along the edge of his shirt. His hair's very black, the military haircut identical to Nick's own, but with a few month's growth on it and it's only when he looks up and smiles that Nick realises exactly how young he is. The boy flinches and drops the match as it burns his fingers, laughing and standing up, walking over to Nick with his hand outstretched.

"I'm Felix."

"Nicholas." he replies, shaking Felix's hand, a little surprised at how firm his grip is.

"I know. I was listening." Felix smiles, "I'm on watch now. I'll see you later, chaps."

He nods to them both and disappears out of the dug-out entrance, pulling on his helmet as he does.

The moment he's gone, Nick turns round to face Jeffy.

"How old is he?"

Jeffy looks up from halfheartedly polishing the buttons on his coat and fixes his eyes on Nick's.

"'e's eighteen."

"Jeffy, he's clearly not eig-"

"'e's eighteen, and so am I."

"You're... you're not eighteen?" Nick asks, staring at him.

Jeffy nudges him, smiling.

"Welcome to the Trenches, Nicholas, welcome to the bloody trenches..."

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><p><strong>As always, reviews are fantastic, thank you for reading, and this fic might be a little slower to update than past ones, and for that I apologise. Thanks! <strong>


	2. The Brit and the Bosch

**I haven't updated in a while, I know I know. Life happened.**

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><p>Nick yawns, trying not to let his eyes close, wobbling slightly on his feet as he stands next to Jeffy, picking half-heartedly at his bread.<p>

"You better eat that. Best we've 'ad in ages for breakfast, that is. Supplies keep gettin' shelled..."

Nick smiles at him weakly, smothering another yawn. He'd barely slept, the constant drone of the guns at the Somme a few miles away keeping him awake. Jeffy grins at him, before yawning widely too.

"How do you cope, being this tired all the time?" Nick asks.

"You get used to it," Felix says from his other side, making him jump. "Or... you learn to keep going through it anyway."

Nick finishes his bread, wrapping his hands gratefully around the warm mug of tea Blaine hands him. There's movement at the other end of the trench, two tall figures walking toward them, stark against the mist that hangs low over the mud.

"Oi, oi! It's the Brit and the Bosch!" Jeffy yells, grinning.

"Line up, lads. At attention, come on, come on." Smythe says, striding toward them, a slightly shorter man following behind him.

The men line up down the trench, standing to attention as the officers march down alongside them. Somehow, Nick's ended up at the end of the line, and he steals the opportunity to glance at the men. Jeffy's a couple of men down from him, staring straight ahead. He looks completely different, much older than he is, hand gripping the butt of his gun tightly. Felix, next to Jeffy, looks the same, eyes shining through the mud on his face.

"Privates Anderson and Slater, neatest uniforms I've seen, well done." Felix straightens slightly at this, the corners of his mouth twitching. "The rest of you, step up. Keep them clean. Keep your _feet_ clean, and dry."

Next to him, Blaine rolls his eyes.

"I saw that, Anderson." Smythe calls, grinning.

Blaine grins back and Nick shifts his feet uncomfortably. Something about the way they're looking at each other makes him feel uneasy, his heart pounding slightly in his chest.

"On watch tonight: Anderson; seventeen hundred to nineteen hundred hours, Slater; nineteen hundred to twenty-one hundred hours, Adams; twenty-one hundred to twenty-three hundred hours, Duval; twenty-three hundred to oh-one hundred hours, Sterling; oh-one hundred to oh-three hundred hours, Henson; oh-three hundred to oh-five hundred hours." Smythe barks, "You know your watch times for the day, for the rest of the time, clean the trenches – get rid of cigarette butts and rubbish, check your packs, write letters home. Keep busy. Dismissed."

Nick turns, immediately trying to find Jeffy, but Smythe stops him.

"A word, Duval."

Nick turns expectantly, glancing between Smythe and the man next to him.

"Private Duval, Captain Hummel." Smythe introduces them quickly, disappearing off to talk to the men, the Captain watching him, obviously disapproving.

"Duval, nice to meet you." Hummel holds out his hand. "I know your brothers, how are they?"

"They're fine, Sir." Nick says, shaking his hand and smiling.

He can't quite place Hummel's accent, which doesn't usually happen to him. Kent, maybe... It's almost the same as his, but there's a lilt at the end that doesn't match. Nick thinks for a moment that he might get away with actually asking, but Hummel's already nodding and walking over to Smythe where he's laughing with Felix and Blaine. Nick watches him go and realises with a start that Jeff's gazing at him steadily.

Nick walks over, joining the group just as the officers stride away. Jeffy raises an eyebrow at him.

"'ow'd the Bosch like you then?" He asks.

"The... who?"

"Captain 'ummel. We call 'im the Bosch cos 'e's got a german name. Smyfe said 'e lived there for a while too."

"He... seems like a nice enough chap..." Nick mumbles.

German, he thinks. That's the lilt on Hummel's accent he hadn't been able to place.

Jeffy nudges him and then grins, clapping his hands together.

"Right then lads. Let's get cleaning!"

Felix laughs, and the four of them split up, making their way down the trench, picking up what little rubbish there is that hasn't been carried off by rats or sucked into the mud. There's a man he doesn't know working next to him, and he thinks about introducing himself, but the way the man's hands are shaking and the look in his eyes, scare Nick, and to his shame he stays quiet.

"Doin' alright there, Nic'las?" Jeffy calls, ducking between the legs of the man on watch to pick up a cigarette end.

Nick nods, grinning. He turns back to the patch of trench he'd been looking at and freezes. For a second, his vision seems clearer, ice crystals in the mud practically glittering, his blood roaring in his ears. There's a hand sticking out from the trench wall, jutting from between two sandbags. The skin is blue, black under the nails, half covered in mud but entire and intact, and Nick can't stop looking at it.

"...Jeffy." He croaks, seeing Jeffy look up and start to walk over out of the corner of his eye.

"Nic'las?"

"Hand." Is all Nick can manage before he's scrambling away, trying not to fall backwards.

Jeffy's by him in an instant, pressing a cup of tea into his hand and pulling him away.

"Sit down, drink this." Jeffy tells him, pushing him toward the dug out.

Nick takes a couple of shaky steps, heading inside just as Felix runs up to Jeffy.

"Smythe's coming." Nick catches, before he's inside and sitting down heavily on the bed.

He stares down into his mug, watching a few flecks of cigarette ash swirl through the liquid. His head's still pounding, every time he closes his eyes the image of that _hand_ swims in front of him. Nick takes a mouthful of lukewarm tea, trying to distract his mind with the taste.

"It's war, Nick..." He says to himself, "You can't let yourself... react like this to every little thing..."

Jeffy coughs from the doorway, smiling kindly at him.

"Y'alright?" He asks, glancing back as two men bustle past him.

Nick nods, draining his mug and putting it down on the table. He smiles, standing up as Jeffy turns and heads out of the dug out. Nick follows close behind him, blinking in the sunlight after being in the dark. There're two stretcher bearers standing next to the trench wall, and Felix is wielding a shovel. Nick looks away.

Jeffy nudges him and snaps to attention, saluting as Smythe marches up.

"I hear you've found a hand."

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><p>That night Nick stands looking out across No Man's Land, hands tight on the gun resting on the top of the trench. He can hear shouting from a few trenches away, and the orange glow of a fire lights up the sky. Nick sighs softly, eyes scanning the horizon, shifting on his feet. There's a mist low across the wire in front of him, and in his imagination hundreds of Germans hide within it. A noise from behind him startles him and he almost jumps into the air.<p>

"Sorry..." Jeffy says softly, stepping up to lean on the trench wall next to him, looking up at him.

Nick nods, not trusting his voice not to squeak if he tried to talk. Jeffy puts a cigarette into his mouth, ducking down to light it, covering it with his hand. He offers his box up to Nick who shakes his head.

"Don't smoke?" Jeffy asks, surprised. "You're a rare one..."

Nick turns his gaze back to the trenches opposite theirs, shivering slightly as wind blows across, harsh and cold. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeffy move, tugging his letter from his pocket and unfolding it.

"Are you excited to see them again?" Nick says, voice low.

"Who?"

"Your sisters... your family. Surely you'll be excited to see them again, when you go home..."

Jeffy looks at him for a second, taking a deep drag from his cig before blowing a cloud of smoke into the air between them.

"Go 'ome? The only way we'll be goin' 'ome is in a box, mate." He takes another drag, "That or we'll be in such little pieces as they'll never find us."


	3. Lucky Stars

Nick lies flat on his stomach in the mud, crawling slowly forward. He can barely see in front of him, just great curls of barbed wire looming out of the mist like the one on his back weighing him down. The mud clings to him, slowing his progress more, and he struggles to keep up with Felix and Blaine, to stay in line with them as they make their way further into No Man's Land. They're searching for holes in the German wire, ones they can fortify and make bigger, keep open for the push. There aren't many. Even the constant bombardment of shells they've been firing since two am the day before hasn't made much of a dent. Nick wishes he could say the same about the British wire. Getting through that into German territory had seemed far too easy.

They've just finished with the German wire, and are starting the slow turn around on their bellies when a flare goes off above them and No Man's Land is visible for all to see. Nick freezes, trying to press himself tighter against the ground, praying that no one'll see him. He closes his eyes, attempting to block out the sights around him that that brief flash of light had afforded him, the desolation that surrounds him where he lies.

After a few minutes of complete silence from both sides, the flare fades and the boys continue their slow movement back to the relative safety of the British trenches, pushing through holes in the wire that, for once, are meant to be there, then turning back and doing their best to repair the ones that aren't. Nick fumbles with his tools, dropping his wire cutters into the mud and struggling to get the wire from his back to where it should be. It takes him twenty long minutes before it's secure and he can crawl back down into the trench, dripping with mud and scummy water.

"Well done lads!" Smythe says cheerily, making a move to clap him on the back before realising how muddy he is and changing his mind. "Well done indeed." And then he's off again, plodding back through the drizzle.

Nick gapes after him for a second before Jeffy's grabbing his hand, shaking it firmly.

"We thought you three were gonners for sure!" He laughs, ushering them down into the dugout so they can attempt to dry off a little, "When that flare went off, we thought you'd be worm meat!"

"Notta chance!" Blaine says loudly, "Not w'Lucky here!"

He wraps his arm around Felix and pulls him in to place a loud kiss onto his grubby forehead. Nick blushes, skin turning pink under the mud. He looks from Jeffy to Blaine and Felix in confusion, sitting down and starting to unwrap the puttee from his leg. Blaine sees his look and laughs.

"This lad, Nick, 'is lad right 'ere," He says, shaking Felix slightly, "Has been out into No Man's Land no fewer than _twenty_ times." Felix smiles shyly, shrugging, "and has never come back with a scratch on him. He fought at the _Somme _and barely had a bruise!"

"Blaine," Felix cuts in, "thinks I'm a lucky charm."

"You are!" Blaine laughs. "My little lucky charm!"

"And you're superstitious." Felix says, rolling his eyes, slipping out of Blaine's arm and tugging off his jacket, drying to brush as much mud off it as he can.

"It's not superstition! It's fact!"

Jeffy drops down next to Nick, a cup of tea in each hand. That's one thing they're never short of, it seems. They're never short of tea. How British, Nick thinks.

"Story time, Nic'las..." Jeffy whispers, nodding toward Blaine.

"I heard about this feller, a few trenches away, down in Bond Street, who said he was sitting, resting with his men, a few feet from the front, just talking quietly, and all of a sudden this chap jumps up and yells, 'Stewart's been killed!'" Blaine pauses dramatically, "Within just a minute, a man came up from the front trench and told them that Stewart had indeed been killed. Ripped apart by a nose-cap through the spine."

Felix shakes his head.

"That doesn't prove anything, Blaine..."

"But he kept doing it, Lucky! He kept having that feeling about other people and being _right_. Hoodoo Bill, they called him, and eventually, he stopped telling people, and became a nervous wreck."

"Nonsense, Blaine. Nonsense." Felix says firmly, before pulling a piece of paper and a pencil from his back and turning away from them.

Blaine frowns, picking up his haversack and going back out into the Trench. Nick glances at Jeffy.

"What was that?" He asks quietly.

"Blaine believes in luck, and ghosts and angels, Lucky doesn't." Jeffy shrugs. "Simple as that."

"I can hear you, Penny." Felix says from the other side of the room.

Jeffy laughs, taking Nick's empty mug from him and putting it on the table.

"Best go, I'm on watch." He winks at Nick. "Well done out there."

Nick watches as Jeff leaves, and then he and Felix sit in silence. After a few minutes, Nick speaks.

"Why do you let them call you Lucky if you don't believe in it?"

Felix looks up, pencil stilling on the page.

"I pretend it's from the Latin and put up with it." He laughs softly. "Besides, it's been months, I'm used to it now. Blaine always has a new story to tell, it... it gets on my wick."

Nick nods, then yawns hugely. He's in watch in a few hours, they both are, and he really needs to get some sleep. He wriggles down in his chair, trying to get a little more comfortable now, and slowly falls asleep.

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><p>Nick leans against the wall of the trench, looking up at Felix as he gazes across No Man's Land, talking quietly. Felix rattles off a round of shots from the machine gun, and then ducks down as the Germans retaliate almost immediately. In the sudden silence after the shots echo away, there's a noise from down the trench and Nick turns expecting to see Smythe or Hummel coming toward him.<p>

A dark figure appears out of the gloom, a dark figure in what is distinctly _not_ an allied uniform. Nick draws his gun, pointing it toward the man as he approaches, hands raised in surrender.

"Jeffy... Jeffy!" Nick calls, as loudly as he dares. "Bleib, wo du bist, komm nicht näher." He tells the German soldier, who freezes instantly.

Jeffy appears in the doorway of the dugout, looking out into the trench in concern, gasping when he sees the man Nick's pointing the gun at.

"I'll get Hummel." He tells Nick, and hurries off down the trench.

Nick and Felix stay where they are, staring at the invader, who stares back, looking almost as scared as Nick feels. Felix nudges him gently.

"I guess we didn't make a very good job of fixing the wire..."

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><p><strong>Hopefully gonna pick the writing pace back up with this now. Reviews are awesome and help me make the writing better. Thanks! LFB<strong>


	4. The Only Bosch in the Trench

**So, it's taken a long time, and I'm sorry for that. Life's busy these days, but I really am trying. Reviews are awesome. Thanks for reading.**

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><p>The German soldier sits down cautiously, watching Nick with wide eyes as he ties his hands. Smythe is on his way with Hummel, Jeffy's informed him, but until they get here all they can do is wait. Nick pulls the rope tight and steps back.<p>

"Hello..." He says quietly.

"Hallo." The soldier says back after a pause.

"Are you alright?" Nick asks, glancing over the boy's stocky frame for any obvious wounds.

There's a gash on his forehead that looks painful and fresh, blood smeared on his skin, and Nick leans in to touch it but the German flinches back as much as he can.

"Fass mich nicht an!"

"Es tut mir leid..." Nick takes a step back, holding his hands up even though he knows the German can't do anything to him. "Aber deine Stirn sah verletzt aus und ich -"

"Nic'las!" Jeffy hisses, pulling him away. "Stop talking to that... filthy German." He wrinkles his nose, scowling at the boy with undisguised loathing.

"I was only asking if his forehead was alright..." Nick trails off as Jeffy glares at him.

"You shouldn't care!" Jeffy whispers angrily. "'e's a _murderer_. The Germans kill babies, Nic'las! They murder the innocent!"

Nick shakes his head and turns back to the German, clearing his throat.

"Sprichst du englisch?" Nick asks, ignoring Jeffy's frown.

"A little..." He says slowly, voice shaking slightly.

"What's your name?"

"I am not meant to tell you that..." The soldier says, eyes flicking between Nick and Jeffy.

Nick looks at him, only realising now how young he is. He can't be more than seventeen, maybe eighteen at a push. His uniform's as muddy as theirs are and Nick has no idea what could have happened to his weapon because he didn't have one when they found him. Nick glances at Jeffy, and at Felix, who's watching the scene silently from the corner. In another world, he might be friends with this German boy. It strikes him that this war seems to be consisted of little boys who run at each other with guns. And he's one of them.

"I'm Nicholas Duval." He tells the German boy, ignoring the exasperated noise Jeffy makes behind him.

The boy looks at him in surprise.

"Karofsky." He offers.

Nick smiles.

"Nice to meet you." Out of the corner of his eye, Nick sees Jeffy cross his arms across his chest. Felix is watching him warily. "Now, Karofsky, have you ever killed a baby?"

"What! No!" Karofsky looks horrified. "You do that! The British do that!"

"Take that back!" Jeffy yells, leaping to his feet.

He's gone bright red and he looks like he's about to lunge at Karofsky. Felix pulls him back, pushing him into a seat with more strength than he looks like he possess.

"It's lies! Propaganda spread by the government, Jeffy!"

"He's a MURDERER!" Jeffy yells.

"So're we!" Nick yells back.

"Attention!" Hummel shouts from the dugout door.

Nick, Jeffy, and Felix snap to attention, and even Karofsky gets to his feet slowly. Hummel stares at them all as he walks in. They stand in silence, Jeffy still red in the face, obviously restraining himself from saying anything more in front of their commanding officer.

"Anderson. Take the prisoner to the pick up point." Hummel says quietly, watching as Blaine hurries down into the dugout, his face set, and almost drags Karofsky out into the Trench.

Hummel steps down, standing in front of them, looking between them carefully.

"At ease."

They relax slightly, hands moving behind their backs as they step into position. Hummel stares at them again before turning and walking away without saying a word. Felix lets out a sigh of relief, dropping into a chair.

"Well... that went better than it could have..." Felix says quietly, "I thought he was going to court-martial you!"

Nick laughs nervously, glancing at Jeffy. Jeffy refuses to look back at him, storming out of the dugout, only stopping to pick up his pack and helmet before striding out into the mud. Nick blinks, leaning heavily on the table, staring down at his feet. Felix pats his thigh reassuringly.

"He'll calm down."

"No, he won't." Nick shakes his head. "I called him a murderer. I thought he was going to... punch me."

Felix smiles, squeezing Nick's thigh again.

"Nick, he'll calm down."

Nick doesn't say anything, listening to the ever present sounds of gunfire and staring down at his boots, looking over every scuff and scratch. His puttees are caked in mud, and his feet hurt a little, still sore from the soaking they'd gotten within the first few days here. He barely notices that Felix's hand is still on his thigh until he coughs suddenly and Felix pulls it away quickly.

"I should..." Felix trails off, getting to his feet and busying himself going through his pack.

He pulls out a few pieces of paper and sits back down at the table, not looking at Nick. Nick studies him for a second before turning away, pulling his letter from home from his inside pocket and opening it carefully. He reads it a few times, smiling to himself, laughing softly at jokes he's already memorised. He's about to find some paper and write his own letter, either to his mother or to Kate, but Felix stops him.

"Go and talk to Jeffy."

Nick sighs, standing up and going up the step out into the Trench. Jeffy's leaning against the wall smoking, the cigarette in his hand sending up a jagged plume of smoke. Jeffy takes a long drag as Nick approaches, then blows the smoke into his face. A few feet away the machine gun rattles, people shouting in other trenches. Neither of them says anything. Jeffy taps his cigarette, the ash falling down onto Nick's shoe.

"Jeffy, I -"

"Button it."

Nick blinks, taken aback. Jeffy watches him, pulling on his cigarette again before licking his fingers and pinching it out, tucking the stub back in this pocket. He holds out his hand.

"'oo wants to fight when there's a war on?"

Nick smiles, shaking Jeffy's hand. He's about to apologise when Blaine runs up to them, grinning breathlessly, Hummel a few steps behind, straightening his cap.

"We're going over the top!"


	5. Send Me Away With a Smile

**A/N - I'm sorry this has taken so long. It's hard to write. Anyway, it's Anzac Day today - 25th April. Even if you're not in a country that observes it, maybe just take a minute of silence and think about the sacrifice that soldiers have made for us to live how we do now. **

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><p>The whistle blows and Nick runs. Runs up the ladder after the man ahead of him and out into the mud. The noise is deafening, guns firing, men screaming and yelling either side of him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Felix go down, but can't stop, just keeps running toward the Germans. Nick fires blindly ahead of him, trying to remember his training, trying to remember anything but the mud on his boots trying to suck him down and the men draped over the barbed wire ahead of him.<p>

A shell explodes nearby, showering him with sod as he runs, almost tripping and falling, catching a glimpse of Jeffy's blond hair as he crumples to the ground ahead of him. A bullet whistles past him, grazing his arm, ripping through the thick fabric of his tunic and slicing into his skin. Nick barely has time to register the pain before another shell explodes, throwing him bodily into the air and knocking him out.

When Nick comes to, he's flat against the edge of a mine hole, his legs disappearing into a pool of stagnant water, feet already starting to sink into the mud beneath them. It takes a moment for him to free them, pulling himself up a little higher, clinging desperately to whatever he can to stop himself slipping in. It's only when he reaches out to get a better handhold that he realises there's another man in the hole with him.

Nick reaches out, shaking the man's shoulder. He doesn't move, doesn't even turn his head to look at Nick, and Nick starts to worry he's out cold. He shifts closer, ignoring the twinge of pain in his arm, to roll the man over onto his back. Nick screams hoarsely, scrambling backwards as much as he can, staring at the man in horror.

His face is gone. A rotten, bloody, mess, torn away by shrapnel and swollen from the water, wrecked by the hungry rats that swarm over No Man's Land, rats like the one floating in the water he's standing in, bloated body bobbing against his sodden trousers. Nick can't look away, eyes transfixed on the corpse. He reaches out, swallowing a wave of nausea to tug the dead man's dogtags from inside his shirt, leaning closee to read them.

_Pvt. Hudson, F._

"I'm sorry, Private Hudson." Nick says softly, closing his eyes and offering up a quick prayer for the dead soldier.

Nick looks up at sky, grey clouds blocking the sun, flashing red and orange as shells explode nearby, the noise of guns and men echoing out through the air. He prays. Prays that someone will find him, prays that he won't die here, won't be found like the nameless man he's trapped with. Prays for the strength to get himself out.

He looks up at the edge of the hole, face set determinedly, pushing his foot into the muddy wall of the shell hole and hauling himself out onto his stomach. He crawls forward, dragging himself through the barbed wire back to the trenches, staying as low as he can, not wanting to draw attention to himself. A soldier grabs him, helping him down onto the duckboard, walking with him to the first aid post.

Nick sits in silence, only repeating his name and rank as the wound in his arm is cleaned and dressed. He's sent back to his post, walking slowly in his wet shoes along the trenches, ducking out of the way of stretcher bearers as they rush past carrying bodies covered in sheets, a bloodied hand brushing his thigh. Nick reaches the dugout, stepping inside, looking around the empty room for his back so he can change his socks. It's only when he reaches down to undo his laces that he realises he's shaking.

There's a yell from outside, an agonised shout of 'No!' that makes Nick shudder. He finishes doing his puttees, then hurries outside, slamming into Felix as he heads the other way. His face is pale under the mud, eyes duller than normal.

"Blaine's dead."

Nick stops, staring at him.

"What..." He mumbles, looking past Felix at Captain Hummel.

All of the colour's gone from his face, he's just standing, staring blankly forward at Smythe. Nick sees his lips move, but doesn't catch what he says before Hummel's suddenly standing back up straight, ordering Smythe to accompany him back to the dugout they share a few trenches away. Nick watches them go, part of him marvelling at the mask that Hummel puts on, coming to the realisation that they all do. They all hide inside themselves, and in their letters home.

He jolts, reaching quickly inside his tunic and pulling his letters out, checking through them quickly, hoping they're not wrecked by mud, wanting to be able to read them even though he knows word for word what they say. Nick puts them back into his pocket, sighing with relief before tugging his helmet on and walking over to join Jeffy.

"Jeffy... I..."

"Don't." Jeffy says slowly. "I understand."

Nick nods.

"Why was the Captain so cut up?"

Jeffy shakes his head.

"There... I fink 'e were more keen on Tips than we fort..." He mumbles.

* * *

><p>"Jeffy..." Nick said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the view through the periscope they were stationed at on watch.<p>

"Mmm?" Jeffy glanced up, fumbling with a match, crouched against Nick's legs, trying to light his cigarette and stay out of sight.

"S'Hummel a queer?" He asked quietly.

"Mmm." Jeffy hummed again, holding the cig tight in his teeth as he stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. "There're more of them about than you'd think."

Nick nodded, swallowing slightly.

"Was Blaine –" Nick started, the rest of his sentence cut off by the Jeffy's lips on his.

The kiss was soft, just the firm presence of Jeffy's lips, his his hands resting lightly on Nick's hips for a few seconds before he pulled away.

"Life's too short." Jeffy muttered, smoke leaking from his mouth as he spoke.

Nick stared at him, fingers pressed to his lips.

"You taste like mud."

Jeffy threw his head back, laughing loudly.

"I taste like mud... 'course I do... we live in the fucking mud, Nic'las! Everyfing is fucking mud!" Jeffy shook his head, still laughing. "We live in the mud and we'll die in the mud, Nic'las. Sucked in and dead and buried in moments."

"Like Blaine." Nick said quietly.

"No. Not like Blaine." Jeffy said, suddenly serious. "Blaine was shot. Shot by the BLOODY GERMANS." He yelled, ducking down from a volley of bullets that never came.

Nick smiled slightly, watching Jeffy, still that taste of mud and smoke on his lips.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't hate me... here, have this, pretend it's Nick - .tumblr_m2xot7SNZN1r6y3vao1_**


	6. Goodbye, Good Luck

Nick smiles up at the sky, feeling the weak sunshine warm his face. Jeffy's sprawled out next to him, sunbathing in his shirt sleeves, whistling 'It's a Long Way to Tipperary' under his breath. Felix flops down beside him and grins so wide his cheeks dimple, skin pink and clean.

"I'd complain that this isn't my uniform but I'm just glad the chits are gone!" He laughs. "Boots don't fit though..."

Jeffy sits up.

"Mine neither... swap?"

Jeffy and Felix both take their boots off, swapping them over and lacing them back up. Felix stretches out on the grass again, wiggling his feet.

"Much better."

Nick jumps as a cricket ball lands with a thump on the ground next to him, and looks up as a tall man jogs over.

"Sorry about that, old chap! Rogue ball, what."

Jeffy's head snaps up.

"Monty!"

"Jeffers!"

The man pulls Jeffy up into a hug, clapping him on the back before standing with his arm around him. Jeffy's positively beaming, gazing at them, his fingers, Nick notices, curled low on Monty's waist.

"Everyone, meet Wesinald Montgomery."

"I've told you before, Jeffers, it's Wesley!" He smiles widely at Nick and Felix, his teeth straight and even, and Nick hears Felix's breath catch. "Call me Monty."

"Felix." Felix says, standing up and holding out his hand.

"Nick."

Nick shakes Monty's hand, smiling up at him.

"Come on, Monty!" Smythe yells from the cricket pitch where most of the officers are playing.

"Better dash, the game must go on, what. Joining us, Jeffers?"

Jeffy shakes his head.

"Nah, you know what I'm like with balls, Monty."

"I certainly do... You chaps fancy a game?"

"I will!" Felix says, standing up and following him over to the patch of grass where two wickets are set up.

Nick rolls over onto his front, gazing back to the house they've been stationed at for 'R&R'. It's a big farmhouse, nothing special, but there's hot water for baths and dry places to sleep. Anywhere's better than the trenches Nick thinks. He closes his eyes, feeling the sun beat down on his back, hearing Jeffy's contented sigh as he stretches like a cat, arching his back.

When Nick opens his eyes again, the sun's sinking down behind the farm. The sky's streaked with orange and the first few stars are just starting to sparkle and shine.

"Red sky at night, Nic'las." Jeffy grins, helping him up. "You know what that means? Another glorious day like this is on its way!"

Nick stifles a yawn.

"Ah, but we'll be spending it listening to a trench foot lecture."

"Another one?" He sighs. "Keep your feet, socks and boots dry, that's all there is to it!"

Nick laughs, nodding.

"They might let us have it outside, you never know."

Jeffy nudges him, nodding back behind him to where Felix and Monty are deep in conversation.

"They're quite taken wif each other, ain't they..."

"Bloody hell, Jeffy, is everyone here queer?" He asks, laughing as Jeffy gives him a shove, pushing through the door into the farmhouse.

* * *

><p>The sun rises slowly, painting the clouds with stripes of pink. Nick sighs, tugging his helmet strap tighter as he leans in to the periscope, looking out over No Man's Land, something on the barbed wire catching the sun, glinting, blinding him for a second.<p>

Jeffy passes by, talking loudly to someone Nick doesn't know.

"And he said –" Jeffy breaks off laughing, "forgot my pencil!"

The other man guffaws, and, slapping Jeffy on the back, propels him forward, managing to grab him before he slips off the duckboards, and into the mud. Their laughter echoes over gunfire so constant Nick barely even hears it anymore as they disappear around the corner.

Felix taps him on the shoulder.

"Change over!" He smiles. "Spot anything interesting?"

Nick shakes his head.

"Just the usual. Bullets, bombs and bodies."

Felix smiles, reaching into his inside pocket and pulling out a small, brown, envelope.

"Monty wrote to me," he says softly. "it came yesterday."

Nick smiles back at him, reaching out to punch his arm gently.

"Good for you, Felix. I'm glad."

Felix blushes, looking around nervously before stepping closer to Nick, the neatly folded letter clutched in his hands. He holds it out.

"Read it." he says shyly.

"Felix, that's personal, I don't want to..."

"Please... I need to know that it means what I think it means."

Nick sighs, taking the letter from him and unfolding it carefully as Felix steps up to the lookout post. Nick smiles at Felix reassuringly and then looks down at the piece of paper in his hand.

_Dearest Fee,  
>I write to you on the eve of your departure from 'le grande maison'. I wanted you to know that I enjoyed our time together here, our days in the sun, and our evenings spent together talking about school. I still can't quite believe you went to Dalton only a few years after I did, and am sure you are somehow pulling my leg about the whole situation. I will always look back on it most fondly. In truth, I find myself rather enamoured with you. I know in my heart that you feel the same way, at least, I hope this is the case. Felix, I must confess that I lie awake at night, thinking of your –<em>

Nick pushes the letter hurriedly back at Felix.

"Well?" Felix asks, tucking the letter neatly back into his inside pocket before patting it gently.

"It certainly seems like he likes you, Felix," Nick says slowly, "but don't go showing that to everyone. I'm positive it ends in a description of something illegal..."

Nick laughs as Felix blushes under the mud on his face, biting his lip. He leans forward, whispering barely loud enough for Nick to hear him.

"I think I'm in love."

There's an explosion, and Nick's thrown to the ground, sandbags and mud crashing down on top of him. There's mud all over him, in his eyes, dirt dropping into his ears as the ground below him rumbles, bombs falling nearby. He can just about hear the sounds of people screaming, but then there's another explosion and his mouth is filled with soil so thoroughly that he can barely breathe.

He kicks his feet, arms scrabbling desperately to get out. To get to the surface. He feels like he's drowning, memories of his brothers holding him down in the lake where they used to play flash before his eyes. This is it. This is how it all ends.

Nick digs harder at the mud, his hand brushing soft skin, fingers, a hand. A hand that isn't gripping his.

Felix.


	7. Oh, It's a Lovely War

**Final Chapter. Reviews are excellent.**

* * *

><p>A weight is lifted from Nick's back, and then there are hands pulling him up and out of the mud. Nick barely stops to cough the mud from his mouth before he's on his knees again. Jeff tries to pull him away but he digs into the mud with his bare hands, helping to get Felix out, praying that he's not badly injured. Another soldier finally pulls the last sandbag from Felix's body and Nick reels back in horror, scrambling onto his feet.<p>

There's blood everywhere, soaking the sandbags and dripping into the mud. Nick retches, staring at Felix's body, the taste of bile filling his mouth. The back of Felix's head is completely caved in, smashed by the back of the periscope one of them should have been looking out of when the shell hit.

_I think I'm in love._

Nick turns and runs toward the latrines, slipping and falling on the boards more than once. He's amazed he isn't grabbed as a deserter but he makes it. He drops onto all fours, heaving up what little he's eaten.

Nick stays on his hands and knees, panting, with tears streaming down his face. Every time he closes his eyes Felix is in front of him, smiling shyly.

_I think I'm in love._

Blood everywhere.

Hands grab Nick's shoulders and haul him up to his feet.

"C'mon Nic'las." Jeffy says softly, "We need to get back."

"No."

Jeffy ignores him, starting to walk them back toward their trench. Nick pulls out his grip.

"I'm not going back, Jeffy. I'm not."

"You'll be court-martialled! They'll shoot you Nic'las."

"I don't care!" Nick says, closing his eyes for a second.

_I think I'm in love._

"I do! You don't deserve to die like that!"

"FELIX didn't deserve it!" Nick yells, pushing Jeffy away when he reaches out.

"I didn't –"

"He was a child! You," Nick points, "You..." his hand shakes. "_You_ are a child."

Jeffy stares at him, his mouth open in surprise.

"Nic'las, you're not much than a year older than I am. You've been in here barely six months." Jeffy says quietly, almost all traces of his accent gone. "I've seen my friends die. I saw my best friend get shot by a sniper our third day here. I joined up with my mates the moment I could and out of all of us, I'm the only one left."

Nick gapes at Jeffy as he turns, walking away from Nick. Jeffy stops at the corner.

"Don't you ever call me a child."

Nick follows him as Jeffy walks back to the dug-out, staying a few steps behind him. By the time they get back, Felix's body is on a stretcher, covered up to the neck with a sheet. His face is remarkably unscathed, his eyes shut and his mouth relaxed almost into a smile. Nick swallows back a wave of tears and steps up to say goodbye.

As they carry Felix away, Nick walks over to Jeffy.

"I'm sorry."

Jeffy nods.

"I know. S'alright."

Nick takes Jeffy's arm and pulls him down, starting to set up their mess tins to boil water with and make tea.

"Jeffy," Nick says softly. "You need to write to your friend Monty and tell him what's happened."

"Oh bloody 'ell, you're right..." Jeffy digs through his pack and pulls out a letter "Felix gave me this... asked me to post it when I wrote to Monty..."

The two of them stare at the sealed envelope, Monty's name written across it in Felix's flowing handwriting.

"We can't." Nick says slowly.

Jeffy shakes his head, putting the letter back in his pack and retrieving a piece of paper and a pencil for himself. He sighs softly, and starts to write. Nick watches him for a few seconds and then finishes making his tea, leaning back against the mud wall to sip it.

* * *

><p>Nick finishes his tea and wipes the mug out before putting it back into his pack. Jeffy smiles at him from the other side of the dug-out.<p>

"Don't fancy going out in this rain much." He jokes, putting on his helmet.

"Not much cop for June, is it?" Nick laughs.

The two of them look up at the door as Smythe enters with two men following behind him. He takes off his helmet and runs his hand through his bryl-creemed hair.

"Afternoon chaps, all ready for the push?" Smythe asks.

Nick and Jeff nod, standing to attention.

"Yes, Sir." They say in unison.

"At ease, gentlemen, at ease. Brought you some new bods to help out. Privates Cinneide and O'Connell." Smythe tells them. "Well, best be off. Hummel can't handle this all himself."

Smythe pulls his helmet back on and is gone as suddenly as he arrived, leaving the four of them together. The taller of the two Privates leans over, holding his hand out.

"Teddy O'Connell." He introduces himself in a thick Irish accent, shaking both of their hands. "This is Sean."

Sean shakes their hands too, grinning.

"Where in Ireland are you from?" Nick asks.

"Dublin." Sean answers.

"We used to know a chap from Tipperary."

Sean nods politely, glancing at Teddy. Outside, the guns go silent, the shelling stops, and all that's left is the sound of the rain on the mud.

"I guess that's our cue." Jeffy says quietly, leading them out into the muddy trench.

They join the line of soldiers, standing in front of a one of the ladders that line the trench wall. Get up, get over, keep shooting, keep firing. Don't die. That's all. Nick laughs softly to himself. That's all. Smythe paces up and down in front of them, checking his watch every few seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick sees Sean reach for Teddy's hand and squeeze it, not letting go until Smythe walks back past.

"Jeffy," Nick whispers, keeping his head facing forward, "Good luck."

"Good luck." Jeffy replies.

Over the rain pinging off his helmet Nick hears a whistle blow a few trenches away.

"This is it, lads." Smythe says, looking at his watch a final time before blowing his own whistle.

Nick's up the ladder before he can think.

His heart pounds in his ears

Rain blinds him.

He falls.


End file.
